


The Tyfil

by Recidiva



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/M, Psychological Torture, Slavery, Torture, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:26:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8816749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Recidiva/pseuds/Recidiva
Summary: Prompt request by KuraiUmmei - originally from the Kink meme - "On Omega Garrus says, "Over the years I've gotten used to the smell of burning bodies... that's probably a bad sign." In the Cerberus Daily News there's a quote from a Turian soldier on a Hastatim squad (Turian teams responsible for eradicating civilian resistance during war): "The burial units are tough to look at, and the cremator smell gets to you..." I think, at some point in his military career, Garrus was on one of the 'death squads' in a Turian conflict of some kind. Can someone write a small fic about Garrus' time doing this incredibly psychologically tough job? If this history affects his behavior in some way during the ME1/ME2 events that would be great. "The Hastatim are supposed to get [kill] everyone, but 50% of the ones I know won't shoot a kid even if they are looting."  "These people have been warned. All that's left are shooters and looters".” "There is no such thing as a Turian civilian."(Jumps up and down and waves at KuraiUmmei)  LOVE YOU!  Thank you for art and conversation and your voice!
  "The Tyfil" narration on YouTube





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kuraiummei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuraiummei/gifts).



It was early morning Normandy time. Garrus sat with his back to the wall in the Battery, one arm resting on his knee, a tumbler of horosk in his hand.

It was true he was good at maintaining and tweaking the ordnance down here, but the reason he rarely left the room was due to the sound of the place. Steady and rhythmic humming, the heartbeat of the ship. It wasn’t white noise so much as what he considered blue sound, like subharmonics, like blood pumping. Most importantly it was predictable and it drowned out the quiet. It wasn’t the quiet that was the problem; it was sudden and unpredictable noises that could punctuate it. Sniper training kept him from being outwardly startled. He had a slow heartbeat and easy breathing through hard-won habit. He’d had practice at calming his body. Calming his mind was another matter entirely and he didn’t have the ease there that he seemed to have. Or maybe he did. Maybe seeming was all anybody had. He was drunk, but he was aware that ‘maybe seeming was all anybody had’ sounded deep but would be trite once he was sober. He refused to follow that thought down a virce hole.

He spun the alcohol slowly in the glass. The level was low. This should be his last one. Instead he filled it up, watching the legs of the alcohol coat the inside of the glass in measured waves. It was comforting, predictable and easy movement, like the blue sound of the ship.

He wasn’t drowning his concerns. He was measuring them, letting the waves define the shoreline. He needed to find Sidonis, but there was no more he could do. Not from here. He could only wait for his contacts to produce information or fail to find it. Drinking was a reasonable action under the circumstances, the burn of it along the damaged inside of his mouth. He was healing, but his teeth tended to catch on the swollen areas and tear them open.

Now that wasn’t a meaningless thought. It was the result of sharp teeth and still being alive. He didn’t want to give up either of those things. At least not before Sidonis was forced to give them up. 

In conclusion, his assets and his liabilities were patience, sharp teeth and spite.

Humans had cats, who bore the myth of having nine lives. Turians had tyfil, a fish that had developed Turian-type markings, red and silver patterns dappling their grey scales. Superstition fancied them as spies for the Spirits of other Clans. To kill and eat a tyfil would be to bring the Spirit of the enemy inside the Madlis, the Clan home. As revenge, that Spirit would whisper to the walls of the enemy Clan’s Madlis, sowing corruption and disease.

Tyfil that bore the most distinctively Turian markings were always thrown back, their mouths torn from the ghosts of hooks, fins wrenched by hopeful and yet disappointed nets, scales scarred. 

Garrus was on his… fourth… or fifth life depending on the depth of superstition involved. 

He seemed to always swim straight for the next net or hook.

Shepard was alive. He was in the company of another tyfil… or cat, since she was human. Cats were by reputation enigmatic and silent hunters and that suited Shepard. If only he could be kept from opening his mouth and swallowing a hook, but she… or the hook… or the net… or all three in combination were irresistible. 

He’d seen her through his scope and he’d wanted to shrink away, fade, slide boneless under one of the body bags and play dead.

Instead, he’d bitten.

Now he was on an ‘improved’ Normandy provided by Cerberus. Was Cerberus the enemy clan that had caught him and should have thrown him back? Or was she the enemy clan? She should throw him back into Omega until death delivered its promise. Maybe he would be consumed. Maybe he could learn their secrets. They couldn’t learn his as long as he did not speak. 

The first time he’d been on the Normandy he’d already had hooks in him and some deep scars.

His hand tightened on the glass and he considered throwing it or crushing it, alcohol dramatically spraying, shattered glass piercing hide. He was about to do it as Arianna Shepard came into the Battery. He froze, the glint and betrayal of the angle at which he was holding the glass seemingly announcing ‘Garrus is about to do something dramatic. Even more dramatic than drinking in the dark.’ 

He hoped she’d leave.

She didn’t.

He brought the glass down from its poised ledge, drank the whole thing in one hit. That was inadvisable as the hooks would be marinating in fragile impulse control. He didn’t look at her. She had her own markings, not catlike, more tyfil-like in the red scars, the red eyes.

She made red sound like the Battery made blue sound. Never white. Never noise. He wondered how much of an intrusion she intended. A Turian drinking in the dark would be avoided by other Turians. He hadn’t picked the galley for a reason. He didn’t want company.

She sat down across the way, about a body’s length. Turian body, not human body. She looked at him as he avoided looking at her, his fringe tipped back. He was aiming for contemplative but he imagined it looked like he found the random pattern of the pipes lining the ceiling to be fascinating. The position that had been casually comfortable a few minutes ago was wrong now. He held it. He wasn’t a cadet caught off post. Staring at pipes, even if that was adolescently transparent, was still better than starting and straightening and probably knocking over the bottle of horosk. It was the middle of the night and she was intruding and he wanted to ignore her until she went away. He wanted to tell her that humans were unspeakably rude… but if he pointed that out, that would make him… spokenly rude.

That made no sense, but that’s why he shouldn’t be talking right about now.

She said bluntly “You said something today about getting used to the smell of burning bodies. I need to know you can drive a gun.”

So not just rude, but concerned. Even worse. Don’t be concerned for me, Arianna. Please. He closed his eyes and decided to deflect. He didn’t move, made his voice sound bored. “You want me to make you sure? Sure. I can drive a gun.” 

“Vakarian, I like you. People I like get one pass for wasting my time. You just used up yours.”

Garrus deliberately put down the glass. “I’m not interested in wasting your time. You want to be doing something else with your time, do it. I didn’t find you in the middle of the night.”

“Maybe you should have.”

“Of all the shit we’ve done, why is burning bodies a problem?”

“Because of the way you said it.”

He knew the way. She knew the way and he was nearing his second strike, her head tilting to the side in an expression of ‘don’t fuck with me.’

He closed his eyes and shook his head “Tell you what. I’ll tell you some stories. At the end you can do whatever you want. Kick me off the ship. Kill me. Take me to Palaven. Take me to the Citadel. Whatever Arianna Shepard decides. But if you want to hear all the way to the end I get to drive a gun and stay here and you don’t ask me why I’m drinking in the dark again. Deal?”

She nodded.

“You remind me of someone. That’s your fault but it isn’t your fault. You’re human. Your fault but not your fault. Definitely not a good thing from the Turian point of view. I’m not a good example of a Turian. That you’re human… I don’t care anymore but… I did. Once. Or I didn’t care then but I do now. Or both. Look, I’m drunk so you’re going to have to deal with some discrepancies and dichotomies. You’re a Spectre. Same on the fault thing. I would really rather be one of the burning bodies right about now. I don’t think I can explain. Could you spare me the effort and shoot me now?”

“You want to kill Sidonis.”

“Yeah.”

“Tell you what. If you can’t explain and I don’t like your stories, I’ll shoot you. I’ll still kill Sidonis for you because you did help save the Citadel that one time.”

He smiled at her bland, quiet promise and tilted his head down to look at her. She was red sound and red light. She had the look in her eye she got when she knew she had to do something she didn’t want to do. She even smelled like red. Somewhere along the way he’d assigned her the color of human blood and it suited her. “Thanks. There’s something called hetak. Turian word, no human translation, I’ve tried. I think it keeps coming out as ‘slavery.’ That’s insulting and way too close to the truth. Women run Turian society. Doesn’t look that way on places like the Citadel because the power structure’s different. Women run the clans. Clan politics make Palaven. A male Turian’s hetak describes the integrity of his service to Avah, Clan and the Turian people. My hetak was shaped first by my Avah. A male Turian has three potential Avahs in a life. Mother, bond mate and any female superior officer. Males can hold authority, but authority is different from power. A male’s authority can always be taken away by a woman who holds power over him. At the top of any chain of command is a woman. I wouldn’t consider a male superior officer to be my Avah. Pallin didn’t qualify. He never would have made it to Executor if he hadn’t had a bond mate with enough power to grant him his authority. By birth I lucked out in the mother part, seeing as she runs the Vakarian clan.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah, I’m important to the Hierarchy. Don’t get excited about that, though. I’m only theoretically important to the Hierarchy in very specific ways that are my fault. The result of pride and ignorance. You know my father was C-Sec, that he talked me out of being a Spectre. My parents are good people but being a Vakarian heir was overbearing. At least that’s what I thought. My mother encouraged me to choose my own hetak. I decided I was going to join the most elite, the harshest, the most… not C-Sec. Never saw my father so blue as the day I told him. After the loss of my shot at Spectre status I decided I was pissed off about that and I was going to join the Hastatim. They specialize in urban warfare. They put down Turian uprisings. I’m a sniper. I’m perfect for it, so a recruiter tells me. The recruiter also told me they were a recruiter, which was bullshit, but that’s part of this whole thing. I’ll get to it. I didn’t look closely and I should have. At the time I was young, frustrated, angry and I knew my chance at Spectre was gone because I was too soft in the plate to stand up to my father. But this time my mother’s blue too. She tells me it’s a bad idea, it breaks people. And that’s all I heard. ‘It breaks people.’ Instead of listening to HOW it broke people I decided right then that it wouldn’t break me and it was my hetak. My father’s telling me absolutely no and I can’t stand that answer one more time. My mother is my Avah but she’s spent her life telling me I should follow my own path, and now I’ve chosen one. She knows if she stops me, I might go barefaced. I’m defiant and determined and digging in deeper with each second. She doesn’t want to lose me. She doesn’t want me to be alone, without clan support, in the Hastatim. I didn’t figure that out until later. At the time I only knew I was finally in charge. I knew I was a damned good sniper, I was the best. I would not break. So I can tell you that now, just like I told her. I’m a sniper. I’m the best. I won’t break.” 

“All right. Glad you feel that way. Now make me feel that way.”

“You being my Avah?”

“Can a human be an Avah?”

“Yeah. Don’t let that get out though. I’m in enough shit as it is.”

“Deal.”

“The woman you remind me of… that being not your fault but still your fault, her fault and mine, her name was Karadis Simmow.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO 

Garrus was on the shuttle headed toward the Hastatim unit drop point with the only other recruit. The other Turian leaned in, Fatik clan markings of green blaze on his face. They pressed forearms together in greeting. His name was Ves and he was a demolitions expert. Garrus said “So you’re crazy.”

“Damned right.”

“Good. I’m a sniper.”

“So you’re a block of ice.”

Garrus held up his hand and moved his trigger finger “Yeah, but this part is on a hinge.”

“I got sent here because I… well, I made a few things no longer viable by incendiary means. I like fires. Can’t seem to stop setting them.”

“I volunteered.”

Ves narrowed his eyes “Yeah, your trigger finger might work but your brain doesn’t. Nobody volunteers for this.”

Garrus felt the burn of pride in his chest, just one more way he was exceptional. “I did.”

“I’m going to give you my crazy points. C.O. is Karadis Simmow.”

“Should I know that name?”

“Before you fucking volunteered, yeah.”

“Why?”

“Good news is that she has the Hierarchy’s full backing, she has the best record of uprising suppression in history.”

“Bad news?”

“People under her command die. A lot.”

“It’s dangerous work.”

“I’m a demolitions expert. I know dangerous work. I also know the stats. I’m dangerous but I’m not stupid. Sometimes I read by the light of stuff I set on fire. This is the end of the line. The Hierarchy would rather get someone like me killed after they’ve warned me enough times. They did their due correctional diligence, I’m uncorrectable. I’m not worth the expense of incarceration. My clan’s sick of me. They’ll all bow their heads at my funeral, but only because of what I cost them and my lost potential. Not because I’m gone.”

“And people like me?”

“I figure you’re lying about volunteering.”

“I’m not.”

“Then may the Spirits help you, Garrus. At least I had fun getting here. Guess what the bonus is?”

“What?”

“Karadis Simmow doesn’t accept female recruits.”

Now that… that was a problem. Not just that there wouldn’t be women for sex… but because women had…

Power.

Women had power. Men didn’t. All-male groups were… bad. Unstable and bad, and with a female commanding officer in high-stress circumstances… Garrus felt the first real chill break through his still-burning pride, hearing the echoing insistence of his mother’s blue voice saying ‘it breaks people.’ He hid it by saying “So, when shit gets bad I promise to shoot you if you promise to blow me up.”

“I didn’t think there were any stupid Vakarians.”

“You haven’t met a lot of my cousins.”

“Never going to. I won’t live long.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“You think you’re brave and want to prove you’re not just any Vakarian. Same thing.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO 

Garrus looked at Arianna, who was patient and fortunately not with an expression of avid curiosity. He said “These stories aren’t about me. I think you get how that can be true. They’re about other people. You’re known for Torfan, and you’re The Butcher, but I know you don’t think that story’s about you. That story’s about who died there. You went to Torfan, you did what you did, you got out. Not a scratch on you. You’re The Butcher. Karadis Simmow was a Monster. Being under her command was like being in the Mako, driving along, one of those rare moments where we’re able to go relatively straight and suddenly – thresher maw. The Mako’s up in the air and spinning, there’s a screech in the air that lets you know you’re in something else’s territory, you can only manage a sideways look out at the twisting view through a window headed toward the ground at this… thing… that’s huge and beautiful in a terrifying way… and there’s running and shooting. No time for anything else. The difference was that I wasn’t IN her territory. I WAS her territory. She could do whatever she wanted, and she did. Nobody was there to stop her. People died. People died because she liked seeing people die. Now I know you. Then I didn’t. But you, Arianna… are someone huge and beautiful in a terrifying way, someone I can only see sometimes through a twisting view headed toward the ground, and you remind me of her.”

She was still neutral, patient as she said “Thanks. Do I still?”

“You’re welcome. Yes and no. Anyway, this is about war. That’s what Turians do. War. This isn’t a story where anybody learns anything, it’s a story about me staying the same, not learning, and how I’m still not learning. You’re the Butcher. She was a Monster. I’m… what I am. You can come to your own conclusions about what that is. The same way I am and was a sniper and I am and was good at it, I am and was a Vakarian and I was under the shadow of my Avah’s wing and that’s probably the only reason I’m alive. Ironically that state is what got me there. It’s also what got me out. I spend the first few weeks barely conscious and she never talked to me in that time other than telling me where to shoot. I was safe in my nests just the same way I always was… metaphorically and literally… safe. The other side never had trained snipers with the best guns, even if they started out that way. By the time I had someone in my sights they’d been degraded in capacity and morale. Karadis was good at what she did. The other side’s got homes they want to protect and kids they want to keep alive. I was their Monster and they never saw my face. So not only is this story not about me, even if it was, I’m not the good guy. Ves wasn’t wrong. Even Karadis wasn’t wrong. Not about some things. Ves really couldn’t stop setting things on fire. He lived for a month and a half. I liked him. He never fucked with me or my gun, but probably because my gun wasn’t really flammable. He was more about property damage. His death was… fuck, it’s probably how he wanted to go out and that’s where this… and I… get twisted up on interpretations. Ves, being a small-clan arsonist was probably the least offensive person in that unit that I saw. Pick a crime and some representative of that group of scum moved through that unit, lived for a little while and then wasn’t alive. Ves didn’t follow the usual pattern of dying because he didn’t matter to her all that much. He was a small, flaming guppy in her pond of truly deviant, recidivist predators. He ran target practice with our canned provisions in the middle of the night. That only meant a little missed sleep and a few missed side dishes. I think she liked him. As much as she could, anyway. She even liked me. As much as she could. The men in her unit were toys for her, and Ves wasn’t as much fun for her as some of the others.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO 

Garrus was up in his nest, a clear view of the entryway of the targeted home. It was small and cramped, no heat signatures. Abandoned.

Simmow sent a notification to the unit “Hold positions. Fatik, get in there. Detecting a chemical signature of an improvised explosive. First landing. Watch out for ficket.”

That made Garrus suspicious because his visor should have been able to pick up any chemical signature she was reading. On a side note he hated the word ‘ficket’ and it was one of Simmow’s favorite slurs. Ficket was the ground-down dust left after filing a talon to razor sharpness. Distasteful grit on the floor to be swept aside and never seen again. Simmow used the word to describe the people they slaughtered in their soon-to-be abandoned homes. She allowed no dignity or respect to the insurgents they targeted. Garrus was exhausted, edgy and hungry, at the end limit of stims and long out of food. He was about to watch Ves die because Simmow had anticipation in her voice. 

Garrus focused on her instead of the doorway. She was watching a feed from Fatik’s head cam avidly.

Simmow asked “See anything?”

Ves answered after a minute “Complicated setup. Definitely gonna take me a little bit.”

Garrus thought he was going to be in little bits. Fuck. This was breaking pattern. Simmow usually tortured the guys she wanted to kill for a while before they died. Everyone saw it coming. She ruined them psychologically and physically, then she ended their lives.

Ves was jumping to the end because she didn’t have time for him. She didn’t want the requisition hassle to replace exploded food or incendiary grenades so she’d set up an explosive for Ves to play with.

Garrus was bleary and panicked, watching Simmow, wanting to do something, say something, help… somehow…

There was nothing he could do. He didn’t have authorization to break radio silence. The unit didn’t talk to each other, they only talked to her. He could only interrupt Simmow herself and that was suicide. He couldn’t change her mind, couldn’t talk to Ves, and as a result next week there’d be a sniper up in a nest aiming at him if Simmow thought he deserved her attention.

Even if he saved Ves now somehow, Ves would be a dead man soon. So would Garrus. Helpless despair churned through the lightheaded panic as Garrus watched Simmow watch Ves, letting him try to figure the device out.

Ves was humming, seemingly happy… as he was about anything that was about to blow up… even if it was him. Maybe especially if it was him. He couldn’t stop doing it. He knew he was going to die. He’d been resigned to it long before Garrus had met him. 

Then Garrus saw Simmow bring out and use a detonator from her belt. The feed from Ves’s head cam showed a spray and splatter of blue and body parts and then static.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO 

Arianna interrupted him there only briefly “Kaidan didn’t have any blood to see. He vaporized.”

“Yeah, I watched you watch the feed.”

“It was my job.”

“And you had the bomb set.”

“That was also my job. It wasn’t because he was a man or because I wanted him dead.”

“I’m sure that’s a comfort to his vapor.”

“So who was the recruiter that wasn’t the recruiter?”

“Her name was Fadai Sivol. Doesn’t really matter except that the compound we were in when Ves died was a Sivol compound. Fadai sold me on the glory and unsung heroes of the Hastatim. She’s a side note because she represents a layer of Palaveni politics that escaped me at the time, a mere man. So it’s Fadai that ‘recruits’ me and about a month later I get my first day off and she’s there to give me the privilege of buying her lunch. This bit might have been fascinating if it were a better story, but really it was low to a level I had not predicted in my ignorance. Sivol clan and Simmow clan are rivals. It was that simple. So Fadai gets me inside and after I’ve seen all the shit taking place above and beyond what I was taught was strict military policy, she wants information to bring down Karadis. I’m going to spare you my fatuous and moronic patriotic duty here and my fervent promises to be of service. I’ve decided Karadis should cease to exist. Men are dying out of combat, lots of them. Some disappear, are considered AWOL but nobody’s looking and there’s a pattern. Karadis starts paying attention to a man, he’s the only one having any sex, it’s with her. Depending on his intelligence or length of stay, he’s at first smug and then he’s looking more and more gaunt and haunted, in and out of being able to stand up straight one way or the other. Nobody talks about it but there are burn marks and whip marks. This goes back to the word ‘hetak’ and how it can be slavery. Anything a female can demand should be a state any Turian male should be able to take without complaint. No male goes to another male for help, because males don’t have that sort of power and they’re culturally obliged to add to the bruises or cracked plate to discourage complaint. Most won’t go to a medic, won’t tell anybody. They make do with Medigel and stims, which are all in lavish supply. Nobody wants Karadis’s attention but they can’t tell her no. Or… some of the guys really do want Karadis’s attention and they’re the worst ones. She makes sure nobody dies under the impression that her attention is a good thing. Later on when I was in C-Sec I looked up a lot of the names. Every single one of those men… deserved to die. They even deserved to die the way she killed them. They deserved worse.”

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO 

One week after his meeting with Fadai, Karadis called Garrus to her office.

He was terrified.

He’d sent Fadai one report, including recorded footage of Karadis giving the ‘suggestion’ that one member of the unit was not performing as required and as she was not properly inspiring, the unit as a whole would take the punishment, which included cancellation of meals, sleep and any time off to spend a day learning to swim. Turians can’t swim but she said she believed that was due to negative thinking and that her unit was capable of making a breakthrough on the subject because they were all exceptional. The unit huddled in freezing water overnight and the ‘suggested’ member who was so offensive to Karadis drowned. Nobody recovered the body. Garrus himself had been less than heroic, unable to keep track of anybody but himself, the drowning happening quietly and without complaint or accusation. He didn’t learn about it until two days after, the first day having been spent shivering and trying not to die from hypothermia while in an exposed nest and shooting targets he didn’t recall.

When Garrus had entered her office she had not looked up from whatever held her attention on her Omni Tool. She was beautiful. One of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She was terrifying. The way she moved, the way she talked, she was Goddess of her realm and he had somehow attracted her notice. He wanted to be brave but he sure this was the beginning of the long, tortured slide to his death at the other end of a sniper scope. 

Could be much worse. He could be a rapist – not of women – nobody did that – but of other men, a child molester… again only of male children…

Those guys rarely left a body of any sort. Usually a damp blue patch of ground and occasionally a smile on the face of another rapist or murderer in the unit having had a fun night at her ‘suggestion’ or order. Maybe there were some other guys with more marks on them unable to meet anybody else’s eyes. There wasn’t much eye contact between any of them after a while. He hadn’t been asked to participate. Most of the guys asked to assist were just waiting their turn in line, their zealously anticipated opportunity to indulge in their favored depravity slowly making it clear to them that another rapist, another murderer would someday be asked to ‘assist’ in his unmarked blue-patch-of-ground grave.

Karadis didn’t look at him, said blandly “Don’t talk. Listen. I’m doing you a favor. You met with Fadai Sivol. You’re here because you believe she’s a recruiter. You’re not the smartest man I’ve ever met, but I’ve also never met a smart man. You don’t rate my attention. Don’t make it so you do. Fadai hates me. You hate me. I happen to not care about you. Her... I’m going to kill her. You can tell her that. You can tell her anything you see, send off anything more you want. Won’t change that she’s going to die and that she brought it on herself. I’m also going to raze a Sivol compound for her stunt. You can tell her that. Doesn’t matter that they never did anything against the Hierarchy. I’ll make sure it looks like they did. Let me correct a few impressions you seem to have. You think the Hierarchy doesn’t know about me. They do. They need me. They find women like me when we’re young. Early on when we don’t know how to hide what we do, who we are. They put us to work. We learn we don’t have to hide, that we have a place, a position and there’s a need for us that can’t be filled by anybody else. Fatik was never anything but walking property damage, he’s cost the Hierarchy hundreds of thousands of credits in repair and replacement of materiel. You think the Hierarchy would rather put him in jail and pay for him the rest of his life, with him willing to set the jail on fire and not stopping until he finds a way? No. They want someone like me who knows what to do with creatures that aren’t Turian. You’re not a Turian, Vakarian. You’re a man. You can kill and you can fuck but you can’t think for yourself, never will be able to. Fortunately for you you’re a decent sniper. I couldn’t care less about your cock. Men aren’t bred for brains. It’s not your fault. Don’t make me think for you. I’ll handle Fadai. You’re just a man and not even a man that’s done anything with his life but be born into an influential clan. I’ll give you a chance to leave. You can take it any time you want without penalty. I’ve got the transfer paperwork drawn up. You don’t even need to sign it, I don’t know if you can read. Thumbprint will do. You’re going to spend a life killing what you’re ordered to kill and fucking real Turians who want to use you. You’re boring and predictable and yet somehow you fancy yourself a Great Turian Hero. You want to be a hero somewhere else? Fix your ignorant choice?”

He desperately did. But here was this beautiful, terrifying woman telling him he was nothing and not worth her notice and the same part of him that had been stung into joining, the same part of him that made his Avah blue, the same part of him that told Fadai yes… said “No, ma’am.” He wasn’t going to crawl away to join C-Sec. 

Part of him knew how and why she was right.

Other parts of him knew how and why she was wrong. 

Part of him knew why he was staying.

“Spirits, get out before I fall asleep.”

He headed for the door, knowing how brave he wasn’t by the crashing, searing relief of being able to retreat.

As he reached the door she said “Wait. One more thing.” She had that note of anticipation in her voice and his spine froze. He turned. She was smiling. She was beautiful and feral, he nearly fell to weak knees to beg for something, he didn’t know what. She said “I’ve heard you use the word ‘people’ to describe the ficket in this unit, the ficket I tell you to kill. You have no idea why the people I tell you to shoot are dying. Don’t pretend you do. You have no idea why this unit has a high turnover rate. They’re ficket. You will use that word. When it’s Sivol, they’re ficket. When it’s new meat in a bunk next to you, it’s ficket. When nobody bothers to find a body, they’re ficket. You use the word or you attract my attention.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She let him go. Beyond that point he never learned the name of any new recruit.

He didn’t answer any of Fadai Sivol’s correspondence. 

Fadai Sivol was dead within three months. Obituary listed complications of Cavol fever. Cavol fever was degenerative, excruciatingly painful and took months to kill. It also could be mimicked by radiation poisoning. Fadai had never traveled to a location where Cavol had been a risk, but no doubt the Sivol clan did not want to admit that one of their most promising and ambitious, well-known Avahs had died due to provoking an effective rival’s displeasure.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoO 

Arianna held up a finger and said “Be right back.”

He changed his mind and poured himself more horosk. She returned with a bottle of her own alcohol. She poured herself a tumbler of something amber colored. She asked “You killed her, huh?”

“Oh yeah. I shot her in the back of the head.”

“That’s one way out of a unit.”

“The Hastatim still exist. I don’t think she was lying. I think someone just as bad as she was took her place.”

“So how is it you aren’t dead?”

“Good question. I’m a Vakarian. It was a regular day out murdering ficket when it happened. I think she took particular pleasure in getting me to take out whoever was the youngest. I was shooting kids in the head that day and a few days before until her head was serendipitously in my scope as I was sighting her next directive. It was a shot of opportunity, but it was also premeditated. I was planning on killing her from the moment I left her office. It took a few weeks for me to sort through it all, a few more guys died and she began making sure I had child targets. The rest of the unit urged me to say it was heat of battle and I was aiming at someone at close range moving to kill her hand to hand. They said they’d all back me up, but I told the investigator that I shot her on purpose.”

“And the someone just as bad as her?”

“Don’t know her name. Haven’t checked. I didn’t volunteer to go back and take her out too.”

“Is that going to happen to me? Serendipitously planned, the back of my head getting blown out?”

“Some of the shit you do, Shepard… on Feros you didn’t even try to save the colony.”

“Using untested and unfamiliar ordnance on mind-controlled hostiles? I had my own squad to look after. We’ve got waves of creepers coming at us. Even if that shit works, what do we do? Restrain them all? How? We tie them up or lock them in somewhere, they wake up and we never come back and they all starve slowly or get mind controlled again to turn on us and now they’re behind us instead of in front? They’re tied down when creepers attack them? Would you want to live after that… thing… used your mind as a playground for how long?”

“Yeah. Your fault but not your fault. Like I said. Part of why I’m alive is because the investigator decides I’m broken and she can use me. There’s a nice place in C-Sec for me if I report on certain people she’s interested in. I tell her to kill me instead. She says there’s no reason for me to lose my promising future. I never denied that I killed my Avah and that it was premeditated. I never told anybody why or justified my action. I was officially broken. Doesn’t matter if I did it on purpose or out of incompetence, there’s no coming back from that. I’m officially exactly what Karadis decided I was – not Turian. My mother doesn’t denounce me, but there’s no future for me on any military or political path on Palaven. My only value is as a potential Internal Affairs informant on the Citadel. I can’t tell you the Citadel doesn’t need it. Corrupt and just as politically low. I did my best at my low-level, no-possibility-of-authority, chosen-for-me hetak. I didn’t report the way she’d hoped I would. I fed some of the worst of individual officer abuses to rival clans, even to reporters. Her clan was just as bad and I didn’t favor them. If she killed me, I’d already asked for that. She didn’t. Again, I wasn’t a threat, I had no authority, I wasn’t worthy of notice. Just a failed asset. Not worth recovering the body. I wanted C-Sec cleaned up. I still thought… I still thought it could happen. And then I meet you, and you have no doubt I’m a Turian.”

“Still don’t.”

“Well, you’re human.”

“I’m your Avah.”

“Yeah. And now I want to shoot Sidonis through the head. I’m willing to label him ficket. I’m judge and jury and I want to use my trigger finger… and I haven’t learned a thing.”

“So who did you report to on me during your first run?”

Garrus coughed up some of the alcohol, bit the inside of his mouth, winced and said “Yeah, it was headed that way, wasn’t it? Arianna… I’m sorry. You thinking I’m Turian… you reminding me so much of her… I knew better. I really did, but I didn’t. The combination of you being a Spectre, you being The Butcher, you talking and walking like her… I still wanted the galaxy cleaned up, I still wanted it done right, I still keep biting at the hope I’m the one that can get that done, to at least be a part of it. My mother… my mother… directs me to be careful, gives me a contact, tells me to watch, to look after Turian interests… fuck.”

“Is this the part where I shoot you?”

“Would you mind?”

“Yeah, I would.”

“Fuck. I didn’t really report on you. I know that the information I gave them was useless, or I thought so. But I don’t know. I was on the ship, all I forwarded was out-of-date flight plan information or bits of what you’d reported to the Council. Things I knew would be useless and easily found facts for a woman of my mother’s authority. I told them you didn’t include me in decision making or missions.”

“But I did.”

“Yeah, but they didn’t know that. I figure have racism work for me for once. No Turian trusts me, why would any Turian think a human would value me?”

“Okay.”

“But what if what I said, what I did… got you killed? What if anything about the flight plans, about the missions, what if that contributed to the Council making certain decisions? What if they fed you directly to the Collectors? What if… I had stood up for you? What if I had told them I believed you’d get the job done? What if I’d told them you did value me, did include me, and that I wouldn’t be a part of spying on you? I considered that, but I figured I was burned already on both sides. Couldn’t tell you the truth. If I told them what I really knew, what I really thought, Turians would only see that as a threat to their authority. I tried to stay harmless, voiceless… to not put a target on your back… and then I left and I wasn’t there…”

“Why weren’t you there, Garrus? I needed you.” 

She wasn’t angry. She was… hurt. He was and had been gutted and filleted on the subject. “I know. There’s a lot up to interpretation, but not this. I’ve known that for two years. At the time, the imperative to report on you had gained ground, gained heat, and I was An Asset now. Yeah, an obviously incompetent and undervalued one, but they had a Turian on the Normandy and they wanted me to stay. Cameras on the Citadel recorded the nature of my relationship with you during Sovereign’s invasion. I was right there with you. You obviously trusted and relied on me. I couldn’t say any longer that I was out of the loop. So I, still having not learned anything… did not want to be a liability to you.”

“You were never going to head back to C-Sec or Spectre training.”

“Never. I lied to you.”

“What the fuck, Garrus?”

“I told you it wasn’t a story about learning.”

“Yeah, well now I believe you.”

“There, now you’ve learned something and I’m still impervious to the concept.”

“But that’s all past. You were on Omega. You had a new name, your own squad. You’re still not dead. I understand the anger… but why are you so guilty? Why is it in your voice? Why can’t you look at me and why do you long to be a burning body? Yeah, I was dead. I’m not anymore.”

He tilted his head back against the wall “My mother’s sick. Corpalis Syndrome. I haven’t been in touch with my family. I couldn’t speak to my mother after you died. I spent two years feeling blisteringly guilty about your death. About never telling you, about not telling my family or the Council or my entire species to fuck off so I could stay on your 6. I thought I was protecting you, but the end result was you were dead. So obviously… not something that resulted in protection. So when you died I DEFINITELY wanted to tell my entire species to fuck off. I wanted to die. I couldn’t talk to my family, I couldn’t trust anybody. I couldn’t stay on the Citadel, I couldn’t go to Palaven, I wasn’t going to join anybody else’s quasi-military anything. I needed to be in control. I needed to set the mission. I needed to know why anybody was going to die. Omega was urban warfare. I saved the kids instead of shooting them in the head. I tried to do what you did. I tried to value my squad, look after them, save the right people, take down the right ones. I tried. I even succeeded in my own way for a while. It was clean, it was clear, it was away from the Hierarchy, it was honoring you the best I could. It was honoring what I knew I was and that I wouldn’t learn, couldn’t change. But I used the name Garrus Vakarian to pull in favors about finding Sidonis. Now someone in C-Sec knows who Archangel is, someone’s put it together. I don’t know who. No names. Just threats. I’m supposed to report on you, I’m supposed to extend those reports to cover anything about Cerberus. Or my mother’s dead. Her medical care will be subverted. She’s mostly gone now, it won’t be hard. Could be any Vakarian. Her control has slipped and someone ambitious…”

“So you’d be the death of every potential Avah you’ve had in your life. Simmow, me and now your mother.”

He tipped his glass toward her and inclined his head. “You can see why I’m not searching for a bond mate. I’m sure someone would decide my sister also is looking kinda unhealthy unless I feed information about my new Avah’s clan to them.”

“Why are you here, Garrus?”

“Because you’re red. Because I do not learn. Because I’m a man who kills and…” he choked off, of all the things he’d said so far, stop now. 

She blinked slowly and said “And who fucks women who find him useful.”

“Not lately.”

“Not since…?”

“Not since before Simmow.”

“But I’m a woman who finds you useful… a woman you want to fuck.”

His smile was crooked “Okay, I learned one thing. I learned you were beautiful, and terrifying, and I should be far away from this ship… as far away from you as possible… I can’t touch you, Arianna.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Oh for Spirit’s sake, have you been paying the slightest bit of attention?”

“I’m distracted now. Stand up Vakarian.”

“No.” It was halfhearted. 

She said “Now.”

He closed his eyes as his heart pounded at the red sound of her. “Oh, Spirits, you used your Avah voice.” He stood, though the wall was still supporting him. “Go away, Arianna. I should have said that earlier. I’m going back in time and saying… you’re rude and you’re not at all red, go away.”

Her lips twitched and she walked over to him, her hands bracing his shoulders against the wall as he swayed. She tilted her head and looked at him, he looked at her and Spirits… he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for something, he did not know what.

She said “Easy. I’m going to do you a favor. Listen. I’m your Avah. I’m red. I’m not going away. Here’s something I can do for you, Garrus. I can take care of you. I can try. I’m sorry I used the word fuck, that’s also my fault but not my fault. You started it. We’re going to find Sidonis. We’ll kill him. Do you believe me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. We’re going to find the person that’s threatening your mother and we’re going to end them. Do you believe me?”

He did. Spirits, he did. Looking at her, the dizzy and the burn and the… red… he did. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You didn’t get me killed.”

“You don’t know that. I should have been there. I should have stopped…”

“You didn’t get me killed. Lots of things wanted to kill me before Garrus Vakarian came along.”

“Well… that’s true… and I did stop some of them.”

“Yeah. You tried to do the right thing and you are valued here, now, by me. You told me I could decide what you were. You’re not broken. You’re a Turian. You’re the best Turian. You wanted to do the right thing and you got punished for it, every time. Humans have a saying for that – ‘no good deed goes unpunished’ - and you are the walking embodiment of good deed. You can tell me the truth. You’re not a slave. You choose your own hetak. You can walk off this ship. I mean, once you’re sober and we’re in port. Not right now. Do you want to? I don’t want you to stay out of guilt.”

“I meant what I said, Arianna. I’m good at the gun thing. I would never… hurt you. You died and I… I wasn’t a Turian anymore, I wasn’t even a man. I wanted to be dead with you.”

“So you’re staying?”

“Will you have me? You scraped me off my blue-patch-of-ground grave… I don’t want you to keep me out of guilt.”

“I’ll not only have you, I think I’m going to insist.”

“Will you use your Avah voice?”

“When you’re sober.”

“Yes ma’am.”

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of a tyfil fish is credited to something I saw on the original "Cosmos" series with Carl Sagan. There's a crab in a Japanese harbor that bears marks that make the back of its shell look like a Samurai - the Heikegani. 
> 
> Reference: "Cosmos" and here http://www.ancient-origins.net/myths-legends/legend-heikegani-samurai-ghost-crabs-002049
> 
> The Hastatim I associate with the hashashim - the basis of the word assassin. - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Assassins - "One theory, possibly the best known but also the most criticized, comes from the reports of Marco Polo during his travels to the Orient. He recounts a story he heard, of the "Old Man of the Mountain" (Sabbah) who would drug his young followers with hashish, lead them to a "paradise", and then claim that only he had the means to allow for their return. Perceiving that Sabbah was either a prophet or magician, his disciples, believing that only he could return them to "paradise", were fully committed to his cause and willing to carry out his every request."
> 
> This is the canon background to all of my Garrus timelines. Arianna is the only Shepard that reminded him so much of Simmow and that led to him informing on her... while being uninformative. That led to the pattern of him being pressured to continue to do it. Other Garruses that have different relationships to different Shepards have had these events influence him and his attitude, but as is common to many other veterans... he does not talk about it. With other Shepards he was not reminded of Karadis, her beauty, her abuse and her power, didn't have her influence carried forward in time. All other Garruses were able to leave her where she lay, where he put her, where he was glad he put her.


End file.
